


Don’t ever say I never do anything for you

by Cryptographic_Delurk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders has a big dick and Fenris is pretty subby and we don’t talk about fight club, Background Fenris/Isabela - Freeform, Facial, Lazy Sex, M/M, Mild Cock Worship, No Context, Oral Fixation, Past Danarius/Fenris gets a quick mention since Anders has no tact, Pillow Prince Fenris, Pillow Talk, Porn Without Plot, gentle kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/pseuds/Cryptographic_Delurk
Summary: “You’re just so damned lazy.” Anders giggles into his face, fluttering kisses over his brow and eyelids and nose.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	Don’t ever say I never do anything for you

“You know I didn’t expect you to be like this.”

It was hard to think clearly through the orgasmic haze that was Anders above and all around him, but he’s sure he must’ve said something because Anders laughs and bends down to cup his face for a kiss.

“You’re just so damned lazy,” Anders says, giggling into his face. Fluttering kisses over his brow and eyelids and nose.

Fenris isn’t sure he has it in himself to deny it. He has one arm running gently up Anders’s side. And he tucks the other one up behind his head like a pillow. If he’s to endure these libellous charges he might as well look the part.

Anders laughs at him again, and rolls off the top of him. And Fenris’s softening dick pulls free of him with a little squelch and a dripping puddle of his seed.

And Anders is already going for a washrag to clean Fenris up, just like he always does because Anders, or maybe Justice, always has to be doing something every second of every day. And Anders is still hard, because of course he is, and Grey Wardens are ridiculous. Fenris had found that out early on.

“You know,” Anders says, wiping him off with little circular movements of the washrag, “I still don’t understand how you managed as a slave. I wasn’t kidding when I said you don’t have the temperament for it – angry, irreverent, and lazy, all wrapped up into one pretty little package.”

Fenris groans, because Anders has no sense of tact or propriety or pillow talk that might actually be enjoyable instead of wildly offensive. He lifts his upper lip in a little sneer, to let his teeth show. “Nor do I have any idea how you survived the Circle, if you were always this annoying.”

Anders puts the washcloth aside, and lays on top of him, so his arms are folded over Fenris’s chest and he’s gazing up at Fenris’s chin. Fenris tilts his eyes down to meet the gaze as best he can, rather than prop his head up for a better look.

“Perhaps I made myself too useful to be disposed of,” Anders says wryly.

It sounds a little too close to the truth.

“And perhaps I wasn’t always this lazy,” Fenris returns in kind. “Perhaps I’ve spent enough time being proactive for one lifetime, and am now making up for lost time.”

“In bed,” Anders says.

“In bed,” Fenris agrees.

“Was it really like that?” Anders asks. “Did you have to be all ‘proactive’ with him?”

The answer is yes, but also no. Fenris rolls his eyes and presses the palm of his hand against Anders’s face, so Anders’s back arches up and his hips press down. “Stop talking about this and finish doing whatever it is you intend to do,” Fenris says. He can feel Anders’s length pressing hard against his thighs, and he parts his legs a little and folds his second arm behind his head. That’s about all he’s willing to do. They’ve finished like this before. Anders can clean him up in back too, and finish inside of him if he wants.

Instead Anders gets up and goes to sit next to his face at the head of the bed.

“You know Isabela said she had to sit on your face to get you to do much of anything. She was highly complimentary of your skills once she did though.”

“Did she say that?” Fenris asks rhetorically.

“Should I sit on your face?” Anders says ponderously. “Is that what I need to do to get you to do something?”

Fenris makes a show of wrinkling his nose in distaste. “You’re heavier than she is. With less padding in the buttocks.”

“I bet I could bring her in here and fuck her right on top of you,” Anders leers. “She’d be squirming against you, and you wouldn’t lift a finger to do anything about it. Save to whine that we weren’t paying attention to you.”

The idea is as frustrating as it is titillating. “I’m not sure she’s fond enough of you for that, after you called her a side dish.”

“Oh, she’d do it for you,” Anders brushes the hair away from his brow. “She’d do it just to see you whimper and cry and beg. You make such pretty keening sounds.”

Before Fenris can contemplate this overlong, Anders shifts on the bed, so he’s crouched with his knees apart, like a halo over Fenris’s head. And before Fenris can put that together, he shifts his dick in his hand and lets it go so it plops against Fenris’s cheek with a dull slap.

Fenris closes one eye and blinks up at Anders with the other. “Why is this thing in my face?”

“Well, I’m not really sitting on you… What do you think?” Anders asks.

Fenris decides he might be willing to entertain this.

“Can I come on your face?” Anders asks, with something like giddy excitement.

Fenris shrugs. “I can think of no reason why not. You’ll be the one cleaning up your mess afterwards.”

Anders doesn’t say more at that point, just gets his hand on his cock and to work. He’s careful, even a little slow, so as not to brush his knuckles against Fenris’s face too roughly.

It’s a little hard for Fenris to see, where he is, with so much motion in the foreground and the dimming lights and ceiling and the rest of Anders in the back. He focusses and refocusses his vision. Taking in the callouses on Anders’s hands. The curly, dark follicles of hair that peter off into wavy red gold as they move up the slopes of his body. The place at the base of his cock that transitions into the wrinkly bit of skin that precedes his testicles, drooping and heavy. The precum that’s already starting to drip from his tip and down the veiny underside of Anders’s cock, because apparently the taint killing any potency in a man’s seed doesn’t prevent Anders from making gobs and gobs of the stuff.

Fenris licks his lips involuntarily.

“You really are… quite impressive,” he allows.

Anders lets out a throaty chuckle. “What are you talking about?”

Fenris scoffs. “Most men of your length and girth wouldn’t bother playing coy about it.”

“I wouldn’t know what you mean,” Anders insists.

But he lifts himself up and tugs himself a little harder at that point, and if anything his cock grows even larger and more engorged. _Show off_ , Fenris thinks.

Fenris shifts his arms under his head, and props himself up just a little higher, so his nose bumps against the back of Anders’s fist. He presses a long kiss to the back of Anders’s hand and, when Anders stills, presses smaller little pecks to each of his knuckles in a line.

When he shifts to sink back down into the mattress, Anders follows him with a slight shift of his hips. _Well, as long as it’s right there-_ Fenris sticks out his tongue and follows the crevices between Anders’s fingers, seeking out the flesh behind them.

Anders removes his hand, so there’s nothing between Fenris’s face and his dick. He grazes his hand across Fenris’s cheek and neck and down his collarbone, careful to avoid touching the white lines of lyrium directly. “Oh, are you going to suck me after all?” he laughs.

“No,” Fenris mumbles against him. And he doesn’t. He presses lazy open mouthed kisses to Anders’s cock. Languidly presses the flat of his tongue over the map of veins on its underside. At times, he even lifts his lip to presses the dull, cool flats of his teeth against Anders, oh so gently, before licking up over them. Anders tastes salty, and a little bitter, but in a good way. And he smells a little like mould, that smell of a Darktown that’s never dry, but more like acerbic soap. Fenris surprises himself by liking it as much as he does.

He tilts his head a little, turning it against where it’s propped against his arms and the pillow. But only enough so that his mouth can reach a scant few centimetres more in each direction.

Anders, to his credit seems to understand the idea. He reaches past Fenris’s face to palm his tip, curling his hand over it in short jerky movements, and leaving the shaft for Fenris to lavish with his intermittent attentions. He begins to rock, these small and gentle creeks of his knees and hips, so all Fenris has to do is part his lips a bit or stick out his tongue for Anders to graze against in these achingly slow movements.

“Nnn,” Anders whines. “That’s it. You’re so good to me. You feel so good, love.”

Fenris thinks this is probably a bit of an overstatement. He’s barely doing anything. And when Anders was taking care of himself a moment ago, his hand had probably been providing more in terms of physical sensation – definitely more friction than the light brushes of Fenris’s lips. But even if it’s just the idea of this that appeals to Anders, he’s certainly not getting any softer. And the babbling flattery falling from Anders’s lips doesn’t stop either, and Fenris eats it up.

It takes too long. Because Anders always does, and Grey Wardens are ridiculous. But Fenris finds he doesn’t mind. The bed is comfortable, and he’d be in no hurry to go anywhere even if Anders wasn’t finished, and Anders’s half-incoherent whimpers don’t stop, even when Fenris takes a break from the kissing and licking to just enjoy the pleasures of not having to move a tired, aching body. How nice it is to have nothing like commands or obligation between them. He only has to kiss when he feels moved to express his affection. He only has to lick when he’s overcome with the impulse to lap up and taste the precum that’s dripping down the underside of Anders’s shaft and starting to messily coat Fenris’s cheeks and lips and nose.

The strangest part is these impulses happen more and more often as Anders continues.

 _This thing_ , Fenris thinks, _has been inside him_. And Anders has always been good to him with it. He wonders if he could map out the part of its crown that always seems to find and catch and scrape against that one spot inside him. And maybe Fenris’s standards are too low. But Anders is always so gentle with it, with Fenris, even when he probably doesn’t need to be. Even now, Fenris thinks, Anders could rub himself against Fenris hard enough to grate and bruise. Anders could pry his mouth open and shove himself down Fenris’s throat. But instead Anders is brimming with gratitude for just a few kisses and the feather light brush of his shaft against Fenris’s face.

It makes Fenris want to love him more and spoil him more. So he peppers the kisses faster, with a little more fervour, and listens to the way Anders’s breath hitches. And it’s good, it’s good. It’s all taste and touch and sound, overwhelmingly so. And Fenris wants to do something nice, for once.

He twists and rolls up on one shoulder, and Anders draws back a little and lets Fenris bat his hand away from his cock. Fenris looks at it, then up at Anders, just to check that he’s watching. And he is, with that stupid flushed face, and that stupid confused expression, and the stupid little crows feet at his eyes and wrinkles on his forehead, and Fenris _loves_ him. And that’s too embarrassing, so he drops his eyes to stare down Anders’s cockhead, which is red and engorged and achingly stiff, and leans forward to lave the base of his tongue over the tip.

Anders moans and says his name and something else. And he reaches a hand out to trace under Fenris’s ear down the side of his neck in a soothing encouraging movement. But Fenris is too focussed on the slow drag of Anders’s cockhead from the base of his tongue to the tip. And when he’s done he starts again, trying to make this second lick more wet and enticing and thorough – pressing and curling the flat of his tongue into every little ridge and crevice and surround every pulsing vein. And when he’s done with that he closes his eyes and presses a little peck of a kiss against the very tip, and feels it twitch before letting himself collapse back down on the pillow.

“Shit,” Anders says succinctly.

And Fenris thinks they’re going to go back to what they were doing, with Anders’s cock looming just above his mouth, and he’s already licking his lips in anticipation.

But instead Anders scoots back a little on his knees and lets out some string of words. “Love, you’re so- If I’m going to- I’m about to- You’re- Maker.” And it makes more sense when Anders grasps himself fully in his hand and aims the front of his dick at Fenris’s face.

Yes, Anders had mentioned that he wanted to come there, Fenris recalls. And he does seem very close as he whimpers and groans at the heavy grip of his own hand. Fenris flutters one eye shut, and leaves the other half lidded, so he can see a bit through his eyelash before he needs to wince at the suddenness of Anders’s climax.

Anders comes in three spurts, over his right eye and nose and chin. And Fenris thinks he’s done and is starting to blink his left eye open, before he has to close it again when Anders groans and lets out an additional two spurts. Because Grey Wardens are ridiculous.

His left eye, thankfully, remains unmolested, and he looks up at Anders with it.

“Clean me up,” he says.

Anders laughs and reaches down dutifully to cup Fenris on the sides of his face, behind his jaw. He gently tilts Fenris’s head to one side, and bends down to lick his mess off Fenris’s face with long soft strokes of his tongue, then tilts Fenris’s face to the other side to get the rest.

“You were so good,” Anders gushes. “Just the sweetest, love,” he says, before nuzzling Fenris’s nose and pressing in for a kiss.

Anders’s eyes are closed, Fenris registers through his own blurry vision. And he’d finished swallowing his own cum before kissing Fenris. Good.

Anders is swivelling around on the bed so he can lay down flat over Fenris, while still cupping his face. “You’re the sweetest,” he’s saying between kisses. “So good, love. Just so good.” And all other sorts of nonsense. And Fenris is trying his best to keep his mouth shut because all that’s going to fall out is stupid things like _Amatus. I love. I care._ And he can’t tell those things to Isabela because she’s a flight risk, and so he won’t tell them to Anders. But it’s true by all and every account and he’s overflowing with it and it’s terrifying.

And Fenris doesn’t actually register that he’s half hard again until Anders giggles and Fenris realises he’s rubbing languidly against the other man’s stomach. It’s actually quite surprising. Perhaps the ridiculous one was Fenris all along.

Anders seems surprised too. “Well, I- Absolutely did not expect that to be as good for you as it was for me,” he chuckles. “But it’s nice to be appreciated with such obvious… ardour.” He bats his eyes.

Fenris glances to the side, away from Anders’s scrutiny. He also hooks one leg around Anders’s waist and begins to grind, just a little.

“What would you like, love?” Anders asks. “I’m probably still loose enough, if you want me to ride you again.”

“If you do that, you’ll get yourself going again and we’ll be stuck here all night,” Fenris reminds him. Because, no, Grey Wardens are definitely _actually_ the most ridiculous.

“I can think of worse fates,” Anders teases, but relents. “Or if you like I can finish towelling off your face and then give you a proper scrub down there so I can return the favour.” His stubbled cheeks hollow as he purses his lips into an obscene ‘O’ shape.

Fenris hopes his blush doesn’t actually show. “You don’t have to,” he mumbles.

“Do you not want to?” Anders asks. And it’s actually a question – one with an open end and no judgement and he’s actually giving Fenris a way out.

Fenris curses under his breath. “I didn’t say that,” he scowls.

Anders laughs and presses a quick kiss to his nose. “Well, then tell me what you want.”

And, curses, Fenris is a fool. And there are things he shouldn’t say. But he’s rolling his hips against Anders’s stomach, and he’s so overcome with this blind and foolish affection he’s overflowing. “ _Anything_ ,” he shudders. “Anything you’d like. Any way you want me,” he pleads.

And for a second it seems like Anders’s eyes are overflowing too. But then he smiles.

“So long as you don’t have to do any of the work,” he amends for Fenris.

“Obviously,” Fenris scoffed. He leaned back into his pillow. That went without saying.


End file.
